24 Hours
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: Emily and her friends met a monster eight years ago--now he's back with a grudge. What is Emily supposed to do now? If any pairing, it will be extremely subtle Hotch/Prentiss--almost non-existent. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**(This story just kept butting in, while I was trying to work on Prentiss and the NCIS Agent. It is a slight crossover with Without A Trace and NCIS—in that I borrowed a couple of characters. It's a bit different than any fanfix I've read, and I'm really interested in what you all think…Thanks and ENJOY…)**_

**24 Hours**

**PROLOGUE**

MAY 2005 SOUTHERN INDIANA CEMETARY

She looked at the coffin, admitting to herself what she'd tried to deny for the past three days. Kate was dead. Her best friend, the one person she'd always felt close to was gone. Shot down by a terrorist on the roof of some warehouse.

Gone, in less than a blink of an eye.

When had been the last time she'd even spoken to Kate? To Sage, Elena, Jazz, or Alex? A year? Two?

Why had she been so stupid?

Now she'd never be able to speak to her friend again. Never, and she only had herself to blame.

Emily turned to the other women beside her. "We never should have lost touch. It was stupid."

"It was." Elena agreed, her softly accented voice thick with unshed tears. She couldn't let them free—FBI Agents didn't cry at funerals. It wasn't done. "Why did we?"

"Fear." Sage said. "We let _him _do this to us."

"It's too late for Kate, but not for us." Alex said bluntly, "I think we should promise not to let this happen to another one of us."

"She died Line of Duty," Jazz stated, as the five women stood off to the sidelines. The small Indiana cemetery was filled with obvious government officials present to pay their last respects to the former Secret service agent who'd spent the last two years working for NCIS.

"I know that. I'm talking about our friendship." Alex argued. "We have no one to blame but ourselves for what we've allowed to happen since _him."_

"We've lost Kate." Emily continued. "I don't want to lose anyone else."

"Me either," Sage said. "I've missed you guys."

"So we're agreed?" Emily asked. "Friends again?"

"We've always been friends, but before we were family." Elena said, as they watched Caitlyn's team walk away from the fresh grave followed by Kate's family. Jazz music floated above the mourners, a happy, snazzy tune, that suited Kate to a tee.

"Meet back here in an hour?" Sage said. "Throw Kate a little send off of our own?"

"I'll bring the beer." Elena said. "Sage, you bring the camera."

And they did, five women dressed in jeans and college sweatshirts, guzzling beer and the most expensive wine Emily could find; laughing about the old times, propped up against the brand new tombstone with the words _Caitlyn Todd, a dedicated agent, friend, and daughter—you will be missed _emblazoned across the black stone.

And he stood with his own camera, and watched them.

**CHAPTER ONE**

**MARCH 12 2008 9:47 PM**

Emily had her house key ready before she even stepped up to her door. It wasn't necessary. She was only three feet away when she realized the door was standing wide open. Her hand immediately dropped to her weapon, removing it soundlessly from the holster at her waist, flipping the safety off as she did so.

A fleeting thought that maybe she should call the break-in into the local authorities, but she continued anyway. She slid around the door, checking each corner of her condo.

It was trashed, but empty. She removed her cell phone from her waist, ready to call in the B&E when she spotted the zip drive taped to the mirror in her foyer. An arrow was drawn in something red and pointing directly toward it.

She pulled it free, careful not to touch anything that could hold prints.

Somehow she didn't think this was just a simple B&E. She hurried back to her car after picking up her laptop from the concrete where she'd sat it. She waited anxiously for it to boot up, grateful Penelope had tweaked the system to make it faster than factory default.

She slid the drive into a USB port and waited for it to auto-play. When it did, her blood chilled and her breath froze.

It took her several minutes to regain her composure. She knew what the message meant—and knew it was from.

She knew what she had to do.

She emailed the video to the one person she knew she could trust to help her no matter what, no questions asked.

NCISBAUWATNCISBAUNCISBAUWAT

Derek Morgan liked the honeys—and the honeys liked him. So why shouldn't he make them all happy? He thought as he danced with the three dark haired beauties who'd pulled him from his spot in the booth he'd been sharing with Rossi, Reid, and Hotch.

Hotch's ex had informed him she was dating someone else. A lawyer—not a secret agent man.

So here they were, trying to cheer the man up. Not that he seemed that down, to Derek's way of thinking.

Derek was seriously considering the odds of at least one of his dance partners heading home with him for the night when his cell phone beeped. He considered ignoring it—but something stopped him.

It was his work phone, and only his colleagues knew the number—and his mother.

If someone was calling him at ten at night, it probably wasn't a good thing. He read the message quickly, stopping there on the dance floor to the annoyance of his dance partners.

"I gotta go, ladies. A friend's in trouble. I have to go play hero." He smiled, though it was obvious his attention was _not _on his companions. Instead he was seriously worried. Emily Prentiss never asked for help—and what did she mean by St. Louis?

He headed back to the table where his friends sat. Reid and Rossi were debating some obscure facts while Hotch just sat there, staring at his beer.

"We got a problem." Derek said, tersely, immediately getting their attention. "Something's up at Emily's. We need to get there fast."

"What?" Reid asked.

"Em just texted me, saying 9-1-1 at her place and that she needed help. I'm not goin' to just sit here." Derek said, impatient.

That was all it took, as Hotch and Reid remembered the situation they'd experienced first with Elle and then with Penelope just a few short months ago.

Within two minutes they were piled into Hotch's SUV and speeding toward Annandale and Prentiss's home. Derek started to give directions to her place, but Hotch told him it wasn't necessary, that he'd been there before.

Hotch pulled the vehicle to a screeching stop beside two marked units from the DC police. They ignored the flashing lights and the officer posted to keep onlookers out. Hotch flashed his bag, and barked "We'll take it from here. It's my agent's place."

"Yes, sir." The young man said, waving the four men past the yellow tape.

Derek was the first to push past the local LEOs as he bolted through the door to Emily's place. The once immaculate condo was trashed. He and Hotch started on the first floor, ignoring the local cops after flashing their badges. Reid and Rossi took the upstairs—Emily's bedroom, office and bath.

Derek was the first to see the red arrow painted on the mirror, that and the question painted beneath it. _Miss me, Princess? This is for Kate._

"Morgan, what exactly did Prentiss's message say?" Hotch asked, reading the words over Morgan's shoulder. "Do you know who Kate is?"

"Yes." Morgan said. "A friend of Em's who died L.O.D. before she transferred to our team."

He pulled the message up on his phone's screen and showed the message to Hotch.

"St. Louis?" Hotch demanded. He knew that was where Prentiss had been assigned several years ago, but whatever she'd been referring to—it wasn't in her file.

"Some asshole she'd worked with. Attacked her and her friends one night." Morgan said, not comfortable with sharing Emily's private confidences with their boss. "Hurt her pretty bad. He was obsessed with her friend Kate. He broke in, Kate wasn't home—he went after what was available. Emily got lucky, Hotch. A couple of friends stopped by and heard her screaming."

"And now he's back?" Hotch asked, almost physically sick as his mind filled in what Derek was leaving out. And with the horror he'd seen in his job—every image he could think of was more horrible than the last.

"I don't know. But I need to check my email. Fast." Morgan said.

"Reid!" Hotch yelled, getting the young genius's attention where he stood interrogating the local detectives. "Morgan needs your laptop ASAP."

"Yes, sir." Reid pulled the slim computer from his ever-present leather shoulder bag. Morgan carried it outside and booted it up, sitting it on the hood of Hotch's SUV. Rossi and Reid gathered around the two men, watching as Morgan's fingers flew over the keyboard.

It was a matter of moments before Emily's email and the video was on the screen. The men tensed, remembering Reid's ordeal. Hotch's breath caught in his throat, a vocal noise that was out of character for the normally taciturn man.

The video feed showed a young woman, dark haired and eyed, and for a moment the men were certain it was Emily. But only for a moment.

The face was different, she wasn't as tall. It wasn't Emily. Thank God.

But if it wasn't, why was it sent to her? Did she know the woman?

More importantly—where was Agent Prentiss?

**MARCH 12 2008 11:02 P.M.**

She dialed Elena's number as quickly as she could, waiting impatiently for it to ring. "El, he's back and he's got Sage. He broke into my place. I don't know who he's coming after next—you and Sophie need to lay low for a few days. Hear me? Lay low."

"_Em, what are you going to do? I can be at your place in two hours, hear me?" _

"No! You stay with your daughter! Call Alex and Jazz. Warn them. Tell them to run, do whatever they have to, to disappear. Keep it cash, don't talk to anyone they know. You do the same."

"And you? What about you?" Elena demanded, as she shook her daughter awake. "What are you going to do? Let me call Malone, he can help us get Sage back. Alex and Jazz, too. We're all trained agents, Em. You don't have to do this alone."

"No. Listen, El. He's FBI, too. It's better if I do this alone, so he can't connect us. Remember?" Emily said as she maneuvered her car back through the streets toward Quantico. "You need to go under, too. Watch the paper. Just like we did in St. Louis. Tell the others. Get Alex to get as much dirt on him as she can. We're going to bring him down this time, I swear."

"What about Sage, Emily? You'll need help finding her."

"I'll find her. I promise, Elena. I'm sending you a video, I want you to keep it, in case I can't get to her. Twelve hours—if I've not found her by then, call in the troops. BAU, Missing persons, whomever you can get."

"Be careful, Emily."

"I promise."

Emily disconnected the call as she pulled up to an ATM. She'd need cash for what she was about to do, and lots of it.

She had twenty-four hours to find Sage, until nine pm tomorrow night. 24 hours to find her—and the man who'd nearly killed her, Alex, and Elena eight years ago.

She couldn't fail. She couldn't stand over the grave of another friend. She couldn't.

She withdrew as much cash as she could and pulled away. She had to disappear if she wanted to track him. He had all the resources of the FBI behind him, more so than she—even with the BAU's help—and she couldn't afford to let him find her. Not until she was ready.

**MARCH 12 2008 11:58 P.M.**

Hotch and the rest of the team were spread out around the conference table. Garcia was trembling, her hands not as steady on the keyboard as they usually were. This was _Emily. _One of her closest friends. It wasn't like Elle, not really. Elle had only been a colleague, a teammate. Not really someone she'd gotten _that_ close to.

She booted up the video feed of the woman. It showed her huddled in the corner, but she didn't appeared cowed. She glared at the camera, obviously knowing someone was watching.

Penelope wondered if she knew the people on this side of the camera were trying to help.

"What do we know?" JJ asked, and everyone pretended not to hear the fear in her voice.

"Treat this like any other case. Work a profile." Rossi said. "We need as much information as we can find, and fast."

"So we're going to profile Em?" Garcia asked.

"Just like we did Morgan in Chicago." Hotch said firmly. "We _have _to find her before we can help her."

"I don't know man. In Chicago, I didn't really try not to be found. This is different." Morgan said. "Emily's scared of this guy. With good reason. _And _if she doesn't want to be found, it'll be mighty difficult to find her."

"Who is this guy, Morgan? What did she tell you?" Hotch asked. It bothered him to know end, knowing that the smart, brave, and capable woman was afraid of someone, and he didn't even know about it.

"Not much. Enough to know she's scared. The guy's part of the Bureau, but she never gave a name." Morgan began. "I'd guess it was eight, nine years ago. She's sharing a place with some friends—other agents, FBI, Secret Service, ATF. They're all out for the night, except Emily and two others. This guy breaks in, knocks one over the head, ties up the second, and…and nearly kills Em."

"Oh, my baby girl." Penelope said, when he'd finished.

"What happened next?" Rossi asked, trying not to think of his pretty colleague as a victim.

It was always worse when it was one of your own.

"A brother of one of Emily's roommates, he and his friends stopped by. Just that simple—they heard Emily scream, broke in. The guy cut and ran before they even made it through the front door."

"And they never caught the guy?" JJ asked, paler than normal.

"Emily never really said much. Just that someone 'made it all go away'. That the guy was pretty high up in the St. Louis office. She and her roommates moved, applied for transfers. She went to Chicago. Then ended up here."

"So the guy's still out there." Reid said. "Where's he been all this time? What was his motive to begin with?"

"From what Emily said—he wanted one of her roommates. She wasn't home that night, so he went after the three women that remained."

"So he hit one, tied up another, and what did he do to Prentiss?" Hotch asked.

"She never said." Morgan sighed. "But you all had to notice how nervous she was in St. Louis a few months back. I don't think she slept the first three nights we were there. Finally, after she told me what was going on, I crashed on the couch in her hotel room. I'd never seen her that way."

"I noticed." Reid said, "I just thought the case was getting to her."

"She's never said anything about any of this." JJ said. "Why did she tell you?"

"I don't know. I just know she was nervous, scared before we even got to the city. I asked her about it."

"What about the other women—did she tell you who any of them were?" Hotch asked.

"No, sir."

"Garcia—see what you can find. Look for any police reports, as well." Hotch ordered. "We need to find these women—find out who this is on the tape, and quick."

"Our first priority is to find Prentiss, she can lead us to this girl—and the bastard who took her." Rossi said, watching the woman on the screen as she pulled her knees into her chest for warmth.

**MARCH 13 2008 12: 28 AM**

Emily's first action was to find another vehicle. She found what she was looking for at a buy-here, pay-here, place on the edge of the city. She'd parked her car in the airport parking garage and called a cab, and told him to drop her off at the nearest cheap car lot. This was what she'd found, and half an hour later she was driving off the lot with a six thousand dollar used Ford Taurus. She knew once someone found her car, they could trace her movements through the cab company—but that would take at least a day, if not longer.

Emily didn't have that kind of time. She had to find Sage—and _him—_and get her out of there. Then she'd worry about what to do about him.

Her mind ran with a million questions, asking herself where he'd been all these years, why was he doing this now, why Sage? Why not her?

He'd always hated her the most. He'd told her that, eight years ago on a warm August night. Hated her for what she had, for what she'd told Kate about him. Hated her for her.

She knew he was using Sage as bait to drag her out. He wanted her, and he'd known she'd do whatever she had to in order to help her friend. And Sage was the most vulnerable. She wasn't an agent like the rest of them. She worked in the music industry of all things, making music videos. Videography. Sage had always had a camera in her hand. She'd had a video tape setup that night in St. Louis, too. It hadn't mattered, then. They'd never had enough to see the man's face. And apparently the word of six witnesses weren't enough for the FBI to sanction their fair haired boy.

Was that why he chose to videotape her? To hold her in that little room, as some sort of macabre joke?

Emily would have preferred he come for her directly. Face to face, get it over with. But he'd always been a manipulative coward. That hadn't changed, obviously.

The first thing she needed to do was find a secure internet connection that couldn't be traced—at least not quickly. She had no idea what sort of influence he wielded in the Washington offices, and she couldn't risk _him _finding her before she found him.

Thank God Garcia had showed her a thing or two about breaking into systems.

**MARCH 13 2008 12:43 AM**

Garcia found the first police report and knew she'd found the first step in the fight to find Emily. "Found it!"

It took only a few finger strokes to place the report on the main screen for everyone to read.

"The UNSUB's name's been blacked out." Reid noted, idly. "Wonder why."

"Bureau connections." Hotch said, as he hurriedly scanned the document. "Garcia, cross reference those names—including Prentiss's—and see what you can find. We need addresses on the other five."

"No need on one, sir." JJ said, recognizing a name. "She works for Jack Malone in New York's Missing Persons. We met her in New York about six months before Emily joined the team."

"Excellent. JJ, call Malone, have him bring her here and sit on her." Hotch ordered.

"Boss, I have a death certificate." Garcia began. "Caitlyn Todd, lost line of duty. NCIS, former Secret Service. Dated six months before Emily joined the BAU."

"So we know the woman's not Delgado, Emily, or Todd." Rossi said. "What of the remaining three?"

"Alexandra Brockman, Sage Morrell, and Jasmine Thorez." Garcia read allowed quickly.

"Cross reference with tax returns." Hotch ordered unnecessarily, as JJ hung up the phone.

"Malone's going to bring her in as soon as he can find her—and arrange protection for her daughter." JJ said.

"Ok, sir. Alexandra Brockman, Secret Service—stationed…here in DC. Sage Morrell, works for LMX Industries, New York. Jasmine Thorez, ATF. Also stationed in DC." Garcia said, reading from her screen.

"I'm betting it's Morrell. Non-agent, easier target. Probably follows a set routine." Rossi said. "I'll call a friend in the New York field office. Pull her in."

"Do that. I'll contact ATF." Hotch said. "Morgan, contact SS and get Brockman here, ASAP."

"Hotch—I don't think that's going to be necessary." JJ said, looking through the window at the three dark haired women standing down in their bullpen. "I think she's here."

"Everybody down there. Now." Hotch ordered.


	2. Chapter 2

_(24 HOURS by JEM)_

_Been given 24 hours_

_to tie up loose ends_

_to make amends_

_His eyes said it all_

_I started to fall_

_and the silence deafened_

_Head spinning round_

_no time to sit down_

_just wanted to_

_run and run and run_

_Be careful they say_

_don't wish life away,_

_now I've one day._

**MARCH 13 2008 1:02 AM**

Emily spent precious minutes at the all night internet café searching for any record of him she could find. She found enough for a good idea of where to start.

Though he was an agent, he wasn't a creative thinker. She knew that, and knew enough about him to make a decent profile to start with, to find Sage. Then, when she had enough to work with, she'd contact Morgan for help. Until then, there was stuff she didn't want the team to know. It was her business—how could she work with them if the _knew? _

She'd understood how Derek felt when they'd found out what Buford had done to him. Emily Prentiss was not a victim. She didn't want them to see her that way. She'd worked hard to get where she was, she wouldn't jeopardize that—if possible. Right now, all she wanted to do was find Sage and get her back.

But she really wished for Garcia's technical skills. She'd love to know if he'd bought any property or owned any in the area that would have a basement.

He had to be close, close enough to watch her, close enough to make it to New York to snatch Sage, close enough that he expected her to find him within the twenty-four hour window he'd given her.

She just had to find him first.

**MARCH 13 2008 1:05 AM**

Hotch and Morgan were in the lead, nearly running down the stairs toward the three women in the bullpen. Morgan recognized the one from Malone's team. She'd been to the BAU before; he'd seen her talking to Emily.

He hadn't realized they were that close of friends.

The other two women were the kind he would give a second glance out on the streets—even a third. Tall, easily as tall as Prentiss, one had honey brown hair that curled riotously though it was pulled back from her face. The other woman was slighter than even Prentiss, looked almost delicate. Her hair was a rich chocolate brown, just a few shades lighter than Em's. Her eyes were her most prominent feature, a whiskey brown that showed fear and worry.

But all three held themselves with the resolve and reserve that categorized federal agents, and Morgan could easily see where Emily would fit in to this odd group.

"Agent Hotchner," Agent Delgado said, her voice softly accented. "We're here to help you find Sage, and Emily."

"We have a few questions." Rossi said from behind Morgan. "Who is this guy? We need to know everything that happened eight years ago."

"Can we sit down?" Alex asked, already settling down on top of Emily's desk. "It's not a pretty story."

"Please," Hotch said, pulling Emily's chair around the desk for the smaller woman to sit in. Agent Delgado chose to stand. "Everything you can tell us will help us find them."

"If you try to find Emily you won't. She has the know-how, the money, and the motivation to remain hidden until she's ready." Elena said, bluntly. "You're best bet is to find _him. _Work from there. You won't find Emily. Not if she doesn't want you to."

"Can Emily find him first?" Reid asked. "Would she know where to find him?"

"Where? I don't know. How? Probably. He hasn't exactly hidden himself from us." Agent Thorez—Jazz to her friends—stated. "He's always there, somehow watching."

"Watching?" Morgan asked, leaning against Reid's desk. "Emily didn't tell me that."

"He's a deputy director of the FBI. First in St. Louis then he transferred to Chicago. Four months after Emily had." Elena said. "He's always one step behind her. Always. Ever since Kate died."

"Why her? Why Emily?" JJ asked.

"Emily worked under him in St. Louis. He asked her out, she said no. He followed her home one day, she wouldn't let him in. Kate heard them arguing and opened the front door before Emily could get her key in the lock. He introduced himself, and that was it for a few months. Then Secret Service and FBI had a joint jurisdiction case. Emily and Kate worked together. So did he. He hit on Kate—she turned him down. He hated it, being turned down by not one, but two of us. He followed Kate for weeks, made Emily's days at work hell." Alex explained. She'd been on that Secret Service team, as well. She'd watched the way he'd watched Kate, the way he'd watched Emily. She'd also been the one he'd knocked unconscious so many years ago.

"Then it stopped." Jazz said. "Just flat out stopped. He completely about-faced with Emily at the office, seemed to completely forget Kate. We thought it had ended."

"Emily was trying through proper channels to get him investigated. Get him out. He knew it, we all know he did. But it didn't work." Elena continued. "We were on hyper-alert. Never went anywhere alone, especially Kate or Emily. Emily was a nervous wreck—she had to work to with him at her back everyday. We were expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment."

"And it did." Morgan said. It wasn't a statement. "What happened that night?"

"Months after this all started, Emily managed to get a transfer to another team. She'd wanted Chicago, but he blocked it somehow. But the powers that be must have decided it was a good idea to get her off his team." Elena continued. "Two days later, Emily and Alex and I were at home. Kate, Jazz and Sage had went out. I don't even remember where, now."

"Emily and Elena were in their rooms. Emily had the largest with a private bath at the back of the house." Jazz explained. "It was her house. The five of us lived with her. It was convenient and the house was large enough we had plenty of space."

"Which turned out to be a curse that night." Elena said.

"How do you mean?" Reid asked. The thought of six women living in a house big enough that they wouldn't be tripping over each other made him just aware of how much wealth Emily probably possessed. It wasn't something they ever really thought about. Yes, he knew she was the daughter of wealthy politicians but when in the field all they cared about was whether the person beside them had their back.

Emily had always had his back, even when he'd resented her for it. Now, he hoped she knew that he had hers.

"Emily's room was the farthest from the kitchen, Elena's wasn't much closer. I was awake. I'd been out late and hadn't eaten. A case. My weapon was locked in the front cabinet. They all were. We often had neighbor kids wander over for visits with the funny ladies' dog—Sage had a Border collie—and we locked them up as a precaution." Alex said, ruefully. "He broke the window to the back door. The alarm didn't sound. He'd known enough about the layout of the house to know where the wires to the system were. He'd cut them. I ran toward the gun cabinet, hoping to get my Sig Saur. He hit me across the back of the head before I could even scream. Not that it would have mattered, Emily and Elena wouldn't have heard me."

"Next he came to my room." Elena said in a curiously flat tone. "I heard him come in. He is an agent, but not that great of one. I was disoriented, I was three months pregnant with my daughter. Sick all the time. He got me, hand over my mouth. I passed out, woke up when he was tying my hands and feet. I, uh, passed out again when he taped my mouth. But he said something to me before. 'I'll be back for you once I finish with the princess.' The last thing I heard before I went under again was Emily screaming."

"Princess? That was written on Prentiss's mirror. What's the significance?" Rossi demanded.

"He'd call her that, when he'd corner her in the office. Implied she got where she was by connections. That sort of thing. He was the son of two Chicago factory workers. Worked his way through law school and the Bureau. School of hard knocks and he never let Emily forget it. She had what he didn't, and she'd turned him down. He, uh, cornered her in a supply closet once, backed her into a wall. Threatened to show the little princess what a common man could do."

"Son of a bitch," Rossi actually growled. "We need his name."

"What happened next? What did he do to Emily?" Morgan demanded.

"He had a knife. He'd held it to my throat. We really don't know what exactly happened in her room. She refuses to talk about it—and she's damned good at evading conversations she doesn't want to have." Elena said. "He cut her, sliced from hip bone halfway up her chest. He was determined to take a long time, it wasn't a deep cut, but it did scar. She was screaming. Alex's brother, Max, pulled in to the driveway with some friends. He was in town for the day and he wanted to see Alex."

"Emily's room was close to the driveway. They heard her scream. They found me in the kitchen. Max ran upstairs. A couple of his friends followed. They found Elena and untied her, took the tape off her mouth. Max ran straight to Emily's room. The guy was already gone." Alex said. "Max couldn't go after him—Emily was bleeding, and he didn't know how bad. But there was blood everywhere."

"What was his name?" Hotch echoed Rossi's question. "We need his name."

"Phillip Allen Smolte, DOB 8-7-58. Deputy Director in Charge of the St. Louis office. He transferred briefly to Chicago, and back to St. Louis nine months later." Elena said, looking directly at Hotch as he registered the name.

It was one he'd heard recently, in Section Chief Strauss's office. Only team heads even knew about him.

He'd been chosen to head a BAU team of his own. He was scheduled to arrive and spend a week observing with Hotch's team next Tuesday.

Instead, it was obvious the man had other plans.

"I don't get it." Garcia said, "Why wasn't something done about him years ago, if you know who he was?"

"Phillip Smolte is a fair-haired boy. High connections in Washington, New York, Chicago, and various other cities. He's an FBI poster child. A lot higher up on the food chain than Emily would have been eight years ago." Rossi explained. "Than she is now."

"Even with witnesses?" JJ asked.

"Even with witnesses." Hotch confirmed. "He was transferring to the BAU to take Rodriguez's spot Tuesday. Was supposed to be here last week, but Strauss delayed the transfer so that our team could get the heads up. We were already wheels up to St. Paul."

"So he was just going to be here?" JJ asked, nearly sick. "Emily was just going to come in and find him here?"

"Hell and he wasn't!" Morgan said.

"He's always one step behind Emily, always." Elena said. "It might take him months or even years—but he always shows up."

"And what does Agent Prentiss do?" Hotch asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Transfers out. If possible." Elena said. "If not, she keeps one eye behind her at all times."

"Garcia, I need you to find whatever you can on Smolte. Go through any channels necessary, proper or improper. I want any record there is. There has to be a trail somewhere." Hotch ordered.

"There will be, sir. But it would be in the St. Louis office. Are you saying you want me to hack the databases?"

"Do whatever you have to." Hotch said, "Don't worry about any fallout. I want this man, and fast."

"You'll have it as soon as I do." Garcia said, hurrying off to her office.

"Good." Hotch said. "We need to profile him and Prentiss. Before the hunter becomes the hunted."

"Emily said give her twelve hours." Elena said. "She had to know we'd give her a third that. She would have counted on that. Time for me to get my daughter to a safe place and to call Jazz and Alex. It's been that now."

"Emily _said_? You've spoken to her?" Rossi asked. "What was said?"

"Told me he was back, had Sage. Told me to stay with my daughter and call in the troops after twelve hours. Told me to watch the paper like we used to in St. Louis."

"Paper?" JJ asked. She knew there was no way Emily could possibly send messages through a newspaper in only a matter of hours.

"Email. We have a secure server, strictly for our own discussions. It's secure as we could make it—Sage set it up with all sorts of protections against hackers. The five of us are the only users allowed in. We just chat, goof off. Send messages about our lives. The nature of our jobs means we're rarely all in the same place at the same time. Have had it set up since the internet was basically in its infancy." Jazz explained. Morgan noticed that not only was she slightly smaller than her friends, she was quieter, softer spoken. It was really hard for him to imagine her as an agent. Of course, it had been hard for him to visualize Reid or JJ as agents when they'd first met, too. Looks could be deceiving.

"How did you all meet?" He asked.

"College. Em and Kate were roommates. Elena and I, and Sage and Jazz. We were on the same floor." Alex explained. "Most of us hated each other on sight. It was an interesting first semester."

"You all hated each other? Why?" Reid asked.

"Too much alike, even though all we saw at first was the differences." Elena said, almost laughing. "The princess, the peasant, the AV geek—we all had our stereotypes. And there wasn't room at first for anything more."

"But that changed." Alex said. "I'm not sure how, unless it was just because time passed."

"We went our separate ways after graduation, but we somehow all ended up in St. Louis at the same time. We had the same classes, similar career aspirations. We just sort of bounded together. When we heard Emily'd been transferred to St. Louis, we ganged up on her. Told her she couldn't live in that mausoleum by herself. Two weeks after she transferred in, we _all _moved into her place." Jazz said, smiling softly.

"It was just like college again." Jazz said. "It was great. It just felt _safer, _all of us living together like that."

"So you've all known each other more than fifteen years?" Hotch asked. "What do you think Agent Prentiss will do?"

"She'll find him. But she's not stupid, Agent Hotchner. She'll know when to call for help." Elena said. "But I can guarantee you he knows what she's doing. And he has the resources to get to her long before we could. Even with the Bureau—BAU, Missing Persons included—it's going to be a hard find—to find both of them."

"But if he finds Emily first—he'll not hesitate to kill her. And make it as long and painful as possible." Jazz said.

"We'll just have to find her first." Hotch said, voice full of determination.


	3. Chapter 3

**MARCH 13 2008 2:23 AM**

It took all of Hotch's control not to curse and throw his fist into the wall when Penelope managed to finally locate the original police photos from the night Emily was attacked. They weren't by any means the worst he'd ever seen, were relatively mild. But knowing that the bloody carpet in the picture he clutched tightly was _Emily's _rug, made it a thousand times worse.

"We should get started." Hotch said. Rossi was the only one to notice how his voice broke ever so slightly.

"Prentiss or Smolte?" Rossi asked, placing the photo he held of six smiling women back down on the table in front of him.

"Prentiss." Hotch said determinedly as everyone—Delgado, Brockman, and Thorez—gathered around the conference.

"What do we already know?" Spencer asked, obviously nervous. Emily was one of his closest friends—now that he was over the resentment he'd felt at her concern about him.

"Well." JJ began, unable to form any clear thought about her friend's personality that would help them find her. "Why did you say she'd know you'd give her less than the twelve hours she mentioned?"

"We used to tease Sage. Said she'd take three times as long as anyone else, always three times. We'd be waiting outside and would take turns going back inside to get her. We called it, 'sending in the troop'. She told me to give her the twelve and then said send in the troops." Elena explained. "Emphasized it."

"So we know she's counting on backup at sometime during the night." Morgan said. "So she's not going cowboy completely."

"I doubt it." Jazz said, "Emily's first action will be to disappear, get rid of her car, pull out any available cash she'd have on hand—and it would be a considerable amount—and somehow begin tracking Smolte."

"Garcia, track her credit and bank accounts." Rossi ordered the tech. "So she'd track him, how?"

"Contacts. We've all maintained contact with certain _friends _in the St. Louis, Chicago, and New York offices—Secret Service, FBI, and ATF—women, who keep us apprised of various things. She might contact some of them." Alex suggested.

"So Emily's smart and resourceful, with the means to do what ever she has to." Rossi said.

"Strange, isn't it?" Garcia said, "We've had her here for how long and all we can tell each other is she's intelligent and clever, with the money to do what she needs? And you all call yourselves profilers."

"Emily's a very private person." Morgan said, "Stays to herself, pretty much, doesn't share too much, except those she's close to, and even that's rare. She's calm and not reckless, methodical, even."

"Wow. She's loaded, too." Garcia said, eyes running over the screen. "Easily rivals Rossi, here. She made an ATM withdrawal from her general bank account at 10:59 PM. Another withdrawal, different bank, at 11:24; more at 12:06, 12:45, and 1:04. Grand total of twenty four thousand dollars. Still has nearly ten times that available in all accounts—four in all. All US, no foreign."

"Wow. Chick's got bank." Morgan said.

"But what's she going to do with that kind of money?" Hotch asked, making notes on the whiteboard.

"Transportation, first." Alex said, definitively. "I've not been to her place, can anybody tell which car she was driving? Sedan or Roadster?"

"She has two cars?" Spencer asked.

"Yes." Alex said. "Her father bought her a BMW Roadster for her birthday. Silver paint, darkened, bullet resistant windows."

"Her sedan was missing." Hotch said. "There was a Roadster in the slot next to hers."

"So she'll switch cars somewhere along the way. Just in case he's tailing her." Morgan said. "But where? She'd have to know we'd eventually find her car—and if we could, so could Smolte."

"I think that's what she's counting on." Spencer said.

"Go on." Hotch ordered. Only Rossi noticed he'd not put the picture of Agent Prentiss down. Rossi could see it from where he sat, and it showed a slightly younger Prentiss, with curled hair and a healthy tan. She looked beautiful, happy, and free. Rossi wondered where Garcia had found it.

"Well, she has to know we'd track her, that we'd back her up. And she definitely knew you three would be 'sending in the troops' as you called it. Emily's _not _reckless. She knows her limitations and her strengths better than anyone I've ever met. I think she'd _plan _on us following her. Us and Smolte."

"So, in other words, she's laying a trap. She's the bait, he's the mouse, and we're all the cats?" JJ asked. "That's kind of reckless, especially for Emily."

"_Even _for Emily." Jazz corrected, drawing everyone's attention. "I don't know why you keep insisting Emily's not reckless. The woman had one hell of a wild streak when we were younger. I doubt she's changed that much."

"Wild? How wild?" Rossi asked.

The three dark-headed women exchanged looks before Elena spoke. "She did change, Jazz, Lex. After Kate died."

"How exactly did your friend die?" Spencer asked. "Why would Smolte write _this is for Kate _on Emily's mirror?"

"Kate was working for NCIS when she was killed LOD by an Hamas terrorist sniper." Jazz said quietly. "Emily was the one they called, next of kin. She arranged for the bod…for Kate to be flown back to Indiana to her parents. She stayed with them until after the funeral. It wasn't easy for her, at all. Emily's not really that close to her family, not at all. _We _were her family for years."

"And then we ran. Every last one of us." Alex said, rubbing her arms for warmth. "Because of him. Emily couldn't stay in the house after it happened. Plus her transfer to Chicago went through. Elena got married, had her daughter. Sage moved to New York—with Alex's brother—to make her way in the music scene. We just, went our own ways."

"And what happened to bring you all back together?" JJ asked, confused by what she _didn't _know about the older woman.

"Kate died, we made a vow we'd not stand over the grave of another one of us." Elena said. "Emily transferred to the BAU a little later, I had moved from the New York PD to the Missing Persons at the Bureau. Alex applied for a transfer back to this coast. Jazz ended up in New York first, then down in DC. We just sort of ended up here again. We thought it was ok. We'd not heard from that son of a bitch in three years. Why would he suddenly come back?"

"Let's move on to Smolte." Rossi suggested. "Garcia, find out where he's been for the last eight years. Cross-reference with any open missing persons or homicides. Focus on women in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties."

"What did your friend Kate look like?" Spencer asked, eyes moving from one woman's face to the next.

"Dark brown hair, longer. Brown eyes. Shorter than Jazz. Freckles, Kate had freckles." Elena said. "Why?"

"And your friend Sage? She also has brown hair—and what color eyes?" Spencer continued, mind obviously at work.

"Brown." Jazz said, flatly. "Every last one of us has brown hair and brown eyes. Weird, we know. It just sort of happened that way."

"Garcia, check for brown and brown. And see if you can pull up Smolte's wife's picture." Hotch said. "If he's remained _this_ obsessed for this long, chances are he's fed that obsession through the years."

"Jinkies, boss. I've tracked him through St. Louis, Chicago, Louisville, and San Diego. Two year assignments for the most part. They send him in for five year rotations but he never makes the full nickel. In those areas in the times he was there, missing persons returned eighty-three hits."

"Narrow it down to blitz attacks in the home, and those involving knives. Try to narrow it down to any bodies that have been found that show evidence they'd been kept alive for a while. If he's holding Sage captive, he's probably done the same before." Rossi ordered.

"Twenty-seven." Garcia said. "And I have the DMV info for a Beth Ann Smolte. Just like you thought. Brown hair, brown eyes. Death certificate, dated March, eight years ago."

"That's the trigger. Here he is, just lost his wife. Works with a woman who fits the same type. Follows her home—and finds a whole houseful who fit the mold. Of course, the bastard's going to snap—especially after the definite rejection of two of the women right in front of him." Morgan said, skilled in understanding obsessional crimes. "So he what? Goes after Emily and Kate? When that doesn't work, he fulfills his needs by other women?"

"Yes. That's exactly what he's done. Garcia, we need you to get everything you can on those twenty-seven women. Get it here immediately. The rest of you, if he's been doing this for eight years, we need to find Emily fast—she needs to know just what she's dealing with, and that it's a lot worse than she suspected." Hotch ordered, removing his suit coat and his tie.

"We need to find a way to get in touch with Emily and let her know. What about that discussion board you all mentioned? Would she use that?" JJ asked, twisting her pen between her fingers nervously.

"Maybe. She'd definitely check it, if she could." Alex said. "My question is, if she plans on us finding her, what exactly is she doing right now?"

"Who knows?" Hotch said, the worry was nearly suffocating him, but he pushed it down, pushed it back. He was a professional profiler. Stopping these sons-of-bitches was who he was. And now _Emily_ was counting on him.

MARCH 13 2008 3:13 AM

Emily found what she was looking for after only forty minutes of simple computer hacking. Thank God for Garcia's willingness to show her a trick or two on LINUX systems. It chilled her blood that he'd been transferring to the BAU.

She didn't know how she would have reacted, seeing him there. Knowing he was that close.

Still, Emily Prentiss was long past running from that son of a bitch.

She was one of Morgan's lionesses, and Smolte—was lower than an antelope. And now this lioness was going hunting.

She emailed the files to Garcia, knowing the younger woman would know exactly what to do with them. She opened up the secure discussion board she shared with her friends and sent Elena a message. _Found what I needed, send in the troops. Tell SSA AH that Smolte is like Abbie—Affairs. Order. He'll understand. Can track the damn bastard that way. Will meet you there. Going for Sage. _

After that was done she closed the laptop and slipped it into the bag slung over her shoulder, where it rested beside her service weapon. She had a feeling she'd be using it before the night was up. And she was more than prepared to do what she had to.

MARCH 13 2008 4:34 AM

"Here they are, sir. And they're not pretty." Garcia said, handing Hotch photographs and sheaves of paper, all with information regarding the twenty-seven dead women. Not just missing. All the bodies in the last three years—fifteen in all—were found, sir. On rooftops. Strange that. I don't get it."

"That's his signature." Rossi said. "Location of the bodies, but why? Why rooftops?"

"Kate was killed on top of a rooftop in Norfolk." Jazz said, softly, remembering her friend.

"He thinks he's killing for her." Hotch said, "But why?"

"He thinks that if Emily hadn't stood in his way, Kate would have been with him—instead of on a rooftop where she could be shot." Morgan postulated. "So we've got sexual attraction, obsession, rage, and rejection—all this is motivating this guy. So how do we find him?"

"Guys—and gals—I just got an email. From an unknown IP. I think its from Emily." Garcia interrupted. Her fingers flew over the keys and files opened rapidly on the screen.

"Morgan, check your email. Agent Delgado, can you log on, see if Emily's sent any messages?" Rossi asked. "We need to know where she's at in her own investigation."

Elena logged on to the net using Spencer's laptop. "I've got something! She's calling in the troops and says tell SSA AH…"

"What?" Hotch moved around to stand behind her and read over her shoulder. "That's it right there! Smolte owns a property three miles from here."

"What is it man?" Morgan demanded.

"She's found out what he's been up to, and has provided an address on the outskirts of Annandale."

"That's were Emily lives!" JJ said, horrified that the bastard had been so bold.

"Would he keep Sage there?" Elena asked. "I mean, isn't it obvious we'd look there?"

"He's a classic narcissist. He most likely thinks that we'd never find him because he's also in the Bureau. He believes he holds supreme power over Emily, over all of you. After all—he probably thinks he was responsible for you all leaving St. Louis eight years ago. Him instead of transfers and the like. Very arrogant. Most likely he also suffers from borderline personality disorder—in his mind all relationships revolve around him and only him. To him, Emily has always been a wayward slave or possession to him. He's determined to show her his ultimate power." Reid said, as more factors ran through his head.

"He'd definitely take her there. And lure Emily there."

"And once Emily gets there?" Morgan asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer. The photos spread before him told the story. Each case, each woman, was worse than the ones before. "What will he do then?"

"He won't get that far." Hotch growled. "Let's move."

MARCH 13 2008 5:36 AM

Emily parked the car a block from the address she'd found. The place looked dark and deserted but she knew in her gut that she was right. Sage was around there somewhere. And if she was—so was Smolte.

Emily's resolve was firm. This thing with that son of a bitch ended tonight, one way or another. He'd plagued her and her friends for far too long.

They should have just confronted the problem from the very beginning instead of virtually running for their lives.

They'd been so young back then, none of them had been that high up the food chain career wise, what little they'd managed to do had just made the situation far worse. But things were different now. She held a pretty high position in the Behavioral Sciences department. Hotch and Rossi were not colleagues to sneeze at. They could have helped her.

But she'd thought it was over. Long dead and buried. Thought she was finally free to get on with her life. She'd been confident, respected by her colleagues, a true professional. Nothing like her two previous posts which had always been clouded by the threat of _him. _She'd never known when she was going to walk into the building and find him watching her.

It was why she was always one of the first to arrive in the bullpen. Just in case he was there. She didn't want the team to see her first reaction if he ever was there.

She'd once been asked how she dealt with the horror of the job so well. She'd lied, saying she just compartmentalized better than most people. What a lie. She was just much better at hiding how she felt. Growing up the daughter of diplomats had long taught her that. What her parents had conditioned her to do, Smolte had more than cemented in her long ago.

She waited a few moments before opening the car door. Her hand gripped the handle of her service weapon, the nerves she felt every time she'd ever drawn it were present, tenfold. If she was caught, it could—would—end her career with the Bureau forever. Her plan was to get in and get Sage—then get the hell out of there, with Smolte unable to prove she'd ever been there.

She circled the house, checking for possible points of entry. The back window to the basement was loose and she opened it silently, stealthily, and then slid smoothly in. She used the pen light she'd carried in her purse and explored the basement, looking for possible clues to where Sage was being held.

First order of business—finding her friend. Second—getting them both out.


	4. Chapter 4

MARCH 13 2008 5: 40 AM

The basement smelled unused. Dust, maybe a little bit of mold. If Smolte'd been down there it had been along while ago. Emily searched stealthily for a set of stairs or a ladder that lead to the rest of the house.

She found them in the north corner of the basement, and climbed them carefully, not knowing if they'd creak beneath her weight. The steps lead into a hallway and she paused a moment, listening for signs of human occupation. In her gut, she knew Smolte wasn't there, but Sage was.

It was just a matter of finding her.

Emily crept down the hall, methodically searching each room one by one. She found what she was looking for in the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. The closet wall was hollow, indicating a hidden door. It took her five precious minutes to figure out how to open it.

MARCH 13 2008 5:47 AM

Garcia watched the video of the young woman closely, looking for anything that would help the team find her. So far, she'd found nothing. Not a single clue. The woman—Sage—paced back and forth around the small room, arms crossing and uncrossing over her chest. Garcia felt an immeasurable amount of sympathy for the other woman.

She was merely a pawn in that bastard's sick game to torture her Emily. Garcia hoped Morgan held true on the words he'd whispered before he'd left. He'd said, _I'll get that son-of-a-bitch, baby girl. And when I do, I'll show him how things are done in the BAU._

Garcia almost wished she could be there to see it when he did catch Smolte.

The woman on screen suddenly jerked, her body turning toward what Garcia assumed was the door. Garcia straightened in her chair. Her breath caught when she saw the woman's face tense then relax quickly.

Someone was in the room with Sage Morrell. And it was someone she knew. Garcia's breath whooshed out when she saw the familiar dark-haired woman hugging the smaller woman.

Garcia's fingers depressed the button to the team's earwics. "Listen up, boys and girls, Em's on screen with Morrell. No sign of the UNSUB. But Em's whole and in one profiler piece. Get her the hell out of there and back here where I can read her the riot act!"

MARCH 13 2008 5:53 AM

Hotch clutched the handle of the door tightly as Morgan took a sharp left turn. The two women in the back seat did the same. But no one in the car—not Hotch, Thorez or JJ—even thought about suggesting the driver slow down. They'd all heard Garcia's status report and knew Emily was with her friend. They just needed to find her.

Hotch and the rest of the team arrived at Smolte's current address with lights off and weapons drawn. A brown car, older make and model, sat halfway up the block. There was no sign of Emily or Smolte.

He'd do whatever he had to, in order to cover any fallout for Emily, but finding Emily was his first concern, his second was bringing that sick bastard down. And when he found her—he'd let her know in no uncertain terms what he thought of her not coming straight to him in the first place.

Didn't she realize he'd have done anything to help her? That all she'd have had to do was ask him?

She probably didn't. He hadn't exactly made too much of an effort to show her how important _she _was to all of them. Even him. When he found her, he'd make sure she knew. Somehow.

MARCH 13 2008 5:54 AM

"Sage, are you ok?" Emily demanded, running her eyes over her friend quickly.

"Pissed, but ok." The other woman said.

"How did he get you?"

"I was stupid." The videographer said. "The son-of-a-bitch was in my damned apartment. I screamed, tried to run, and he grabbed me. That's all I remember."

"He didn't hurt you?" Emily asked, tersely. She moved back toward the door, ready to lead her friend out. By her estimation, it would take them less than three minutes to clear the building, and she'd head back to the BAU. Then they'd get Smolte, once and for all.

In the meantime, it had been too easy to find Sage. Way too easy.

The secret door in the closet had opened to reveal a small ladder. Emily guestimated the small room Sage had been held in to be built behind the standard basement. Possibly as a panic room for some past politician. Or some other damned madman who held people captive. She'd opened the door and found her friend, as simple as one-two-three. Smolte wasn't that simple. Emily felt it in her gut.

"Come on, Sage. We have to get out of here. Something isn't sitting right." Emily urged. "This is too easy."

"He's planning something, the bastard." Sage agreed. "I could see it on his face when he dumped me down here."

"And he's probably watching." Emily said. "He uploaded a video of you to a zip drive before breaking into my apartment."

"So he can probably see us right now."

"Most likely." Emily's hand tightened on her weapon as she moved just a bit closer to the door. "Let's get out of here."

Two steps toward the door, and it slammed shut. Lights began to spin over their heads, and both women looked up, seeing the tract lighting that surrounded the room's ceiling.

"Em, I've got a funny feeling about this." Sage said, as a thick white smoke began pouring through the vents.

Emily climbed the small ladder, trying in vain to swing the door at the small platform opened. It wouldn't work. Sage was right behind her, both women pulling on the door handle.

They realized it at about the same time, as the white fumes overwhelmed them. They were trapped. Emily had walked right into his hands.

Her last thoughts were for her friends—Sage, who was right beside her, and Garcia, who she knew had to be watching the video feed by now.

Emily couldn't help but feeling that she'd failed them both.

MARCH 13 2008 5:58 AM

Garcia was screaming. Her voice was echoing in everyone's earwics. "Get in there! Get in there! He's gassing them! Get in there! Derek, get Emily! Get her! Hurry!"

Hotch moved, his sprint toward the house the only signal the rest of the agents needed to storm the house. They knocked down the doors, both back and front entrances, and found nothing. Hotch depressed his mic, "Garcia we need to know _where_! Get us anything you can!"

The blonde pulled herself together, somehow, someway. "Back of the house. The floor plan has a void. Behind the guest bedroom. Check there, and for godsake Hotch, hurry! They're down, I can't tell if they're breathing!"

He didn't thank her, didn't want to take the time, as he hurried down the hallway. He wanted to shout her name, call for her, but he didn't. Wanted to save his breath for when he found that damned room.

He saw the white fumes first, rolling out of the crack beneath the closet door. "Morgan! In here!"

The closet opened inward, a fact that registered in the back of Hotch's brain as strange. Closets always opened outward to make storage better. Hotch rammed his shoulder into the door, repeating the action until the wood splintered. He called her name repeatedly, not even aware that he was using her first name.

Morgan didn't miss it, and he filed it away for later consideration. He couldn't remember seeing the other man that scared, not that outwardly. Not even with Henkle. Morgan was two seconds behind Hotch in getting down the six foot ladder into the subfloor room. The white smoke roiled out of the room, weighing less than the oxygen that rolled in with the two men. Morgan was grateful for that. Getting those fumes away from Emily and her friend could be potentially life-saving.

Visibility was next to nothing in the small room, but it was a minute space. It didn't take them long to stumble over the first woman. Hotch dropped to his knees beside the woman, immediately feeling for a pulse. In the clouded room he couldn't determine which woman it was as he scooped her in his arms and passed her to Morgan. He trusted his agent to get her out, whichever woman it was. But that still left one unaccounted for.

She was a bit further in the room, but Hotch found her. He gave a small prayer of thanks, but the gas was starting to work on him, as well. They both had to get out of there. And quick. He lifted her, not even searching for a pulse—there wasn't time. His lungs were starting to burn.

Morgan was waiting at the top of the ladder, his arms coming down to take the woman from Hotch's arms. Rossi grabbed Hotch by the jacket shoulders and heaved him off the ladder.

Rossi didn't give him the chance to rest, pulling him to his feet as the men ran out of the hallway. The gas was still spewing from the vent in that little room, and no one was immune to the effects. It took them less than two minutes to get everyone out of the house. Hotch was down on the grass beside Emily when the ambulances rolled up. He was coughing, tears streaming from his eyes, throat burning. But Emily hadn't awakened. She'd been the one he'd found last. She'd been the one exposed to those fumes the longest.

He clutched her hand, kneeling there beside her on Smolte's yard, as the first responders arrived. They immediately got to work, one covering her face with an oxygen mask before they moved her onto a gurney. Two minutes later and they were leading Hotch to the ambulance with her. He'd need checked out, too, but their prime concern was for Emily.

He didn't know about the other woman, the dark haired woman who 'd looked so much like Emily on that black and white screen. Morgan had pulled her out, gotten her out of the damned house, where JJ and Thorez could tend to her. Then the dark skinned agent had come back—in time to help pull Emily and Hotch out of that room.

One of the attendants handed Hotch an oxygen mask and he took it almost absently. Emily hadn't woken yet. Hotch shook his head when the attendant asked if they knew what she'd been gassed with. It would take them a while to figure it out. His eyes hadn't left her face, and his right hand was repeatedly stroking the dark hair over her forehead, the bangs soft and silky against his palm. It was the most intimate he'd ever touched her and he was very aware of it. Was aware that she'd never needed him before.

The oxygen began to do its job, and she began to struggle. Hotch dropped the mask from his own face and moved closer to her ear, whispering reassurances, telling her she'd be alright. Her eyes flew open, her dark gaze meeting his. For a moment, there was no recognition in her gaze, just wild panic and terrified confusion.

"Emily, I'm here. You're ok." He said, making sure her eyes were focused on him instead of the EMTs. "Look at me and nod if you understand."

Her eyes ran over his face, before she nodded slowly. Then her dark eyes closed again; his hand kept up the reassuring movements on her hair. Her body had relaxed from the tense, fight response she'd tightened into upon waking, but he knew she was still conscious. Her hand came up, unconsciously seeking for familiarity, and he wrapped the fingers of his left hand around her smaller one. She tried to speak behind the mask, her free hand rising to pull it away from her face, despite the objections from the EMT. "Sage?"

"She's being tended to." Hotch said. "We got her out, too."

"Thank you." Emily said.

"God, Emily. Why didn't you come to me in the first place?" He demanded, his lips close to her ear so she couldn't miss his words. "I'd have helped you, surely you know that."

She pulled the mask away again. "Didn't want to get you in trouble. Smolte has connections on the highest level, sir. I had to be absolutely sure. If not—it was just me on the line, no one else. Not you, Dave, Derek, my friends. Just me."

He nodded, understanding completely. She'd been protecting the team, just as he would. But surely she knew he'd have risked it for her? "We'll get him, Emily. Don't worry about that. We will. You don't have to do this alone. Not anymore. We found something."

Her eyes widened, a wordless question he recognized for what it was. "Smolte's killed at least twenty-seven other women, Emily. It wasn't just you and your friends he was after. His career is done, and he's headed for prison. As soon as we catch him."

"Hotch, are Elena and the others ok? He can't get them, too, can he?" Her words were husky, a note of fear in them that he wasn't used to hearing from her. It was then he recognized her for what she truly was—a female equivalent of him. Someone who'd do what had to be done to protect her family, her friends. A female warrior who'd sacrifice it all to save those she loved. The job was who she was, too. Not just what she did. He understood that, better than she'd probably ever imagine. He felt close to her then, closer than he had since she'd transferred to the team.

"They're all safe, sweetheart." He said, blinking back tears he knew weren't just from the gas. "All we have to do is find him, and it'll be over. I promise. Completely. You'll never have to worry about him again."

She closed her eyes then, and he felt her trembling start to subside. Felt her body relax even more. Then she was asleep, and he was left holding her hand the remaining minutes to the hospital.

DEREKDEREKDEREKDEREKDEREK

Derek had watched Hotch as he collapsed on the grass near Emily. The man was clinging tightly to her and Derek couldn't help but wonder if Hotch realized how he felt yet. Derek fought his own urges to rush to his friend's side. Instead he focused on the unconscious woman at his own feet.

She was smaller than Emily, more delicate. Her features were more gamine, pixyish. He could see why her friends seemed extra protective of this one. The ambulance arrived and he scooped the woman up and met them at the end of the drive. Two minutes worth of oxygen and the woman's eyes opened.

Derek could see that she was scared and confused. "Hey, Sage. You're ok. I'm Emily's friend Derek. You'll be ok. Squeeze my hand if you understand."

She complied, her soft brown eyes searching the yard with the EMTs and police swarming the grass. She made a noise and he moved closer. She repeated it and he understood. "Emily's fine. She's with my boss over there. She'll be ok. You just be good, ok, pretty lady? And do what these guys tell you."

She nodded and Derek moved away as the EMTs moved her to a gurney and one of the other dark-haired agents ran up to them. It was the other small one, the quiet one, _Jazz_ he thought her name was. She grabbed her friend's hand, the worry evident on her pretty face. They really were a close group, and he was glad Emily had them for a family. It was nice to belong somewhere.

The ambulances pulled out, carrying Hotch, Emily, and Sage away, and Derek immediately looked for Rossi and Agent Brockman. He found them talking to the local Annandale police chief, who was demanding answers. It wasn't everyday that toxic gas rolled out of the windows of an upscale Annandale home.

Derek just wondered where that bastard Smolte was. What he wouldn't give for ten minutes alone with the man—without by-the-book Hotch looking over his shoulder.

It twisted Derek's guts to think of Emily running from the bastard for eight years. And he was slightly angry with his friend for not telling him the _full _extent of the man's actions so long ago.

But he could understand the not wanting the team to see her as a victim. It was exactly how he, himself had felt back in Chicago, when they'd finally arrested Buford.

Being a _victim_ was something you never wanted to have your friends see you be.


	5. Chapter 5

**24: Mustering the TROOPS**

_(First off, let me just explain that I do introduce quite a few more characters as auxiliary in this chapter, and they are from my own fiction novels-in-progress, as is the Club _SIX _mentioned. Sebastian Lorcan, Malachi Brockman, and Michael "Hell" Hellbrook are all the heroes of the romantic suspense trilogy I am writing…for more of Hell and Sebastian visit my homepage through the link on my profile….and as always let me know what you think….)_

**MARCH 13 2008: HIGH NOON**

Emily was through running—Hotch could see that in her eyes, her stance. Her walk as she entered the bullpen at his side. She'd checked herself out of the hospital—AMA—against medical advice, and no amount of him arguing had changed her mind. He'd done everything but play the superior card, and he'd vowed to himself he'd not do that to her. This was her life, and she had a right to take a hand against this bastard. To fight back.

How much she was capable of actually astounded him, and the rest of the team, in the next hour.

Her friends had been waiting in the bullpen, four beautiful brunettes filled with determination and righteous anger. Hotch had actually felt apprehensive being in their midst.

"Emily. Good, you are here." The New York agent said. "I've called my chief, he's insisted on bringing the rest of the team to offer any assistance."

"Thanks Elena." Emily said, grimly. "All the help we can get is appreciated."

"Glad you feel that way." The one with the lightest hair said. Her rings of curls were very attractive, Hotch couldn't help but think. In fact, they were all exceptionally beautiful women. He looked at the other males in the bullpen—Morgan and Reid included—and knew that observation wasn't his alone. They were the center of attention. They didn't seem aware of it, so focused as they were. The honey-brunette continued, and Hotch tuned back in. "Because I've called my brother. He and Lorcan will be here shortly."

"And what can your brother do?" Rossi asked the question that immediately hit Hotch's mind.

"Malachi's a part of this. More, he's a deputy director of the CIA. His friend Lorcan, well, no one's really sure what agency he's a part of. But they were both there that night." Agent Brockman said.

Wow. Hotch thought. He hadn't known Emily's connections extended quite that far. And they just kept branching as a beautiful redhead walked in followed by three men, a woman who looked like she'd fit in real well with Garcia, and another brown-eyed brunette. She walked straight to Emily and embraced. "Emily. I got your message and came as soon as I could."

The older man behind her took his turn hugging Emily before speaking. His manner shouted clearly that he was ex-military. "What's this about Kate?"

"Gibbs, its good to see you again." Emily said, not answering just yet. "We'll get into that in a bit. Ziva, how have you been?"

"Good. Emily, what is this about some bastard wanting to kill you? I thought we left them behind in Europe years ago." The younger brunette said, her accent standing out against Emily's modulated upper-class prep school tones. The Gothic woman went straight to Garcia and threw her arms around her, not surprising Hotch in the least.

"Let's just call it unfinished business." Emily sighed. "But I'm glad you're here. This man's after those he blames for Kate's death, especially me, but you all could also be potential targets. Especially you, Zi, this guy likes brown-eyed brunettes—especially with _any _connection to Kate."

"Great. So how do we find and stop him?" Ziva asked.

"First, how about an explanation, Agent Prentiss? Kate has been dead for two years. Why now?" Gibbs demanded. Hotch didn't like the way the man held Emily's elbow in his grasp, or the way she'd yet to pull away.

"We don't know, Gibbs." Emily said, and Hotch was proud of the un-cowed tone. "We're waiting on a few friends of mine from the CIA before we explain everything in detail. They shouldn't be too much longer."

"Just tell me this, you're ok? I don't need to go bust a few heads?"

"Just one head." Emily smiled then, and the older man smiled back. Hotch didn't miss the surprise written on the man's colleagues' faces. "And I'm going to take care of the busting of his head myself."

EMILYKICKSASSEMILYKICKSASSEMILYKICKSASS

The New York team from Missing Persons arrived, followed quickly by two men that actually managed to frighten Hotch. Malachi Brockman shared his sister's honey brown hair and brown eyes—and an obvious previous history with Emily. Hotch hated him on sight. Sebastian Lorcan—Hotch couldn't get a handle on that man at all. He was equally as tall as Hotch, hair equally as dark. But his eyes were green. Hotch's first impression was of a jungle cat. And as the day progressed that impression just deepened. The man moved with a snake-like fluidity. And he was fiercely primitive—probably moreso than Hotch ever considered himself to be. Had Lorcan been an UNSUB, Hotch would have been highly concerned.

Instead, the man obviously adored Emily and her four friends, though he didn't think Lorcan had been romantically involved with any of them.

Hotch stood back as the strange group crowded around the conference table. Director Sheppard stayed back, letting Emily and the younger women plot and plan. Something in her manner told Hotch she wasn't well, and while she was giving the best she could, she was exhausted. He stepped closer to her. "If you need to rest, my office is free."

"I'll be fine, Agent Hotchner, but I appreciate the concern."

"How long, if you don't mind me asking?" Hotch kept his words low. She looked as his father had in the months preceding his death.

"Four, six. Not too sure." She said, eyes trained on her people. The three men—Gibbs included—stood back, mostly watching the women in awe. Emily took center stage, a large map spread before her. Garcia was on her left, laptop open and running as Emily fed her instructions. The two little ones—as Hotch was mentally referring to them—David and Thorez—crowded in on the right. Brockman, her brother, Lorcan, and Delgado were opposite, contributing quickly to the discussion. "Emily knows. But no one else."

"I understand." Hotch said. "How do you know her?"

"Years ago, Emily, Ziva, another woman, and I had an assignment that started in Egypt and ended down-town Hell. Ended up driving madly across Europe with Ziva at the wheel. We've been friends ever since." The redhead said, with a nostalgic look in her eyes. "Closest thing I have ever had to a real family."

"I understand that, too. And I thank you for helping us with this. I want this bastard, badly."

"So do we. I never met her, but Katelyn Todd was very important to my people, and to Emily. I owe it to her to find this monster." She hushed as the tall, silver-haired Gibbs approached.

"So let me get this straight, Agent Hotchner. This guy wanted Kate, but when he couldn't get her he went after the other women in the house—including Emily? And he waited two years to get revenge now? Why?" Gibbs demanded.

"Exactly. But he killed a good dozen women in between then and now. But he wrote on Prentiss' mirror that he was doing this for Kate. That has some significance. But why he chose to video-feed holding Ms. Morrell captive, I don't know."

"Sage was always with a camera. Everything the girls did was video-taped." Malachi Brockman said, as he moved close enough to catch the conversation. "Sage was always foolin' around with video. Not surprising, but there are countless tapes of everything they did back then, trips to the beach, sitting around the house, when Kate caught the kitchen on fire—it was all on tape. Even that night was on tape—but that bastard knew it. He took the tapes from four of the six cameras that had been set up. And the two left behind didn't show enough to identify him."

"Can we get those tapes?" Hotch asked. "Garcia might be able to pinpoint something that was missed eight years ago. New technology."

"I don't know if they have copies of the tapes—but I certainly kept them. I had them uploaded to a disk drive two years ago, to make storage easier." The Deputy director of the CIA said. "I've wanted to bring this bastard down for a long time, and have never been able to get enough on him."

"We'll get him this time." Hotch vowed, throwing a glance at Emily. "He's not getting near Emily again. Or her friends."

"I've got something!" Garcia suddenly crowed, bringing everyone's attention to her. "Smolte just used his credit card, at the café two blocks from here."

Morgan didn't have to be told twice. He was out the door in seconds, followed quickly by one of Delgado's co-workers, and Lorcan.

"Wow." Garcia said. "Those guys can move!"

"Have we anything else, Garcia?" Hotch asked, moving to stand directly behind Emily. He placed a warm hand on her back, thrilling when she unconsciously leaned into his hand. His admiration for the woman had continued to grow as the day progressed. She'd kept her cool, effectively leading her strange band of troops in a way reminiscent of a benevolent general. She'd never overstepped her boundaries with him, or the rest of their team—or even Strauss, who'd peaked her head in several times to investigate just why their was a Deputy Director for the CIA and a Director of NCIS in their midst. Hotch hadn't missed the way the woman's eyes had widened when she'd been effectively shut out—put on a need-to-know alert, and this was something she didn't need to know.

It was very clear to everyone observing—mainly Hotch, Rossi, Gibbs, and Delgado's supervisor Jack Malone, that all of the women in the room, except Director Sheppard who'd finally taken Hotch up on the offer of his office, looked straight to Emily for direction. Even Garcia, JJ, the other two New York women, and the Gothic evidence tech, Abby, were unconsciously following the other example and looking to Emily to lead.

And she did it well.

Soon Garcia, Abby, and the Morrell woman were pouring over the surveillance videos from that night eight years ago and from what Morrell had provided from her personal video system of the night she was taken, combined with the tapes Garcia had watched of the small room the woman had been held in—with some help from Reid and NCIS Agent Tim McGee. Hotch hoped they found something that conclusively tied Smolte to the attacks.

Morgan, and the other men returned, furious and obviously frustrated. Hotch didn't need to ask, it was obvious Smolte had been too quick for them. But the bastard was in the area, probably watching the building waiting for Emily or her friends to walk out. Waiting to nab one of them.

Hotch had had JJ prepare a press release, making it clear that Emily and her friend were perfectly safe, that they had escaped the attack by an as of yet unknown assailant. He wanted Smolte to know he hadn't succeeded. Wanted him thrown off-kilter, enraged, hoping to trigger some carelessness on his part.

"What triggered this? Why this elaborate plan?" Malone asked, breaking into the women's discussion. Hotch understood how the man felt. They were used to being in charge, planning missions, strategies, and now they were basically relegated to the background, support staff positions. Lackeys for lack of a better word. It was disconcerting, seeing how little Emily and her friends really needed them to accomplish something. After all, the woman had both the CIA and NCIS at her beck and call. Not to mention Secret Service, and ATF to draw from. And apparently, Moussad operatives weren't out of her range, as well.

Emily Prentiss was a potentially very dangerous woman, Hotch realized for the very first time. It was…exiting.

"St. Louis." Morgan suddenly said. "We were in St. Louis back in January. In the local field office, liaised with Michael Hellbrook's team, the Complex Crimes Unit. Emily—did you see him in the building?"

"No. And I was watching. That doesn't mean he wasn't there, or unaware that _we _were there." Emily admitted. "Garcia, can you check and see if he had any strange activity on his credit cards around that time frame?"

Everyone waited, attention focused on the colorful blond. She finally spoke. "Purchased a property in Annandale, several flights to Washington and New York since then, and one credit card receipt for a tattoo parlor in the downtown district of St. Louis."

"Mickelo's?" Elena asked.

"Yes. How did you know?" Garcia asked, looking at the Hispanic Missing Persons agent.

"Because that's where _we _all got our tattoos." Alex said, bluntly.

"Wait, wait!" McGee suddenly said. Everyone turned to him like puppets. "I just saw a tattoo."

He hit a few buttons and the film of Sage being dropped to the floor of the panic room became visible on the LCD. He rewound a few frames and focused before pausing. Soon a man's inner wrist became visible, including the rose and ribbon tattoo.

"A rose? Abby…what was Kate's tattoo?" NCIS Agent DiNozzo asked, looking at the Goth woman.

"It was a six-petal rose." Emily said, bluntly. Hotch didn't miss the way her hand had dropped to cover a spot on her lower abdomen. "We all got them the day we graduated from college. Inside each petal was a letter. Initial. C, E, E, A, S, J. The stem had the year interwoven through it."

"And the ribbon?" Gibbs asked. "Significance?"

"We added the ribbon and altered the original design a bit on the one year anniversary of the day we lost Kate." Sage said. "We altered it to show a petal falling off. Then had the dates of that night and the date of Kate's death written on a yellow ribbon and woven around the flower."

Hotch didn't miss the way the four women's eyes kept darting to Emily. "There's more?"

"He carved a heart around Emily's tattoo." Elena Delgado said, bluntly, not looking at her friend. "We shaped the ribbon to cover that. We don't want to remember that, you understand. He's not going to take the significance of that flower away from any of us."

They all moved unconsciously closer to flank Emily and Hotch nodded, struck again by their solidarity. The little NCIS brunette, grabbed Emily's hand and squeezed, and Emily smiled at the younger woman. Hotch estimated her to be almost a decade younger than Emily. He wondered briefly at their European meeting.

Emily had an obviously complex history and he wondered why none of it was written in her file.

Connections, probably. And he couldn't say he blamed her for pulling them that way. He'd have done the same thing if he had to.

"You have a tattoo?" Morgan asked, deliberately lightening the suddenly dark mood of the room. Emily just smiled at her partner, laughing at him silently. Hotch's own lips twitched. "Where exactly is it at?"

Emily leaned closer. "Nowhere _you'll _ever see it, player."

"I am completely crestfallen, you cruel, cruel woman!"

"Ok, back on track. We need to find this guy." Hotch ordered, though his word carried little weight in this apparent venture.

"So we know he has the Annandale property, but is he actually staying somewhere else?" DiNozzo asked, as he sidled up to one of the smaller ones. Agent Thorez just ignored him. "He can't be one step behind you every damn minute. So where else does he go. And why is he claiming this is for Kate? What is the significance of that?"

"Holy Shit!" Thorez suddenly said. "The clubs!"

"Clubs?" Rossi and several others echoed. "What clubs?"

"The clubs we own in New York, St. Louis, and DC." Alex Brockman said. "We are all partners in several nightclubs_. _We just opened the last one here in DC six months ago."

"I've been there, nice music. But I didn't realize you owned it, Emily." Morgan said, surprise on his face.

"I don't, alone, anyway. We each share a twenty percent interest." Emily admitted. "We started the first one in St. Louis six months before everything went down. Then we opened another one in New York three years ago. Sage generally controls that one. We have a manager for the St. Louis club, that I deal with on a monthly basis. And the DC club, I stop in whenever I get the chance and speak with the manager there. Sage—what do you think the clubs have to do with things?"

"He _knew _about the clubs. He had to have." The videographer practically vibrated, she was strung so tightly. She hadn't been still since they'd arrived and Hotch suspected that was normal for her. "And yesterday—was it yesterday—I had just left the club when he hit me."

"So it's possible he could be planning something at one of them_." _Emily's face was grim. "So what do we do?"

"We're going to have to bait a trap." Lorcan suggested. "Draw the damned cat out."

"Aw, but who is the cat and who is the mouse?" Emily asked.

Hotch silently echoed that question.


End file.
